A Love Song, Inevitably
by Disney Sorceress
Summary: SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS LITERALLY BELOW THIS LINE. Can't say it enough: Spoilers for The Empty Grave. "It couldn't be anything else," I said. "No, exactly. Anyway, Luce . . . " Lockwood cleared his throat. "I was going to ask if you - " The end of Chapter 18, if we'd had just a little bit more time.
1. Chapter 1

"I was going to ask if you wanted to keep it."

I didn't quite hear him. In handing the necklace back to him, my thoughts had wandered far away, to the story of a man who had once loved a woman so much that he'd had something so beautiful and unique crafted, especially for her. A symbol of love that refused to die.

Standing in the yard with their son, years after their own tragic deaths, the thought brought a twinge of sadness.

"Luce?"

Lockwood's voice drew me back into the present, where we were standing close together, illuminated in the light of the sunset. When night fell we would have a fight on our hands, but for now the sun was still shining. I blinked up at him, searching desperately for my bearings. Had he asked me something? I was certain he had. "I'm sorry, what?"

I considered myself a bit of an expert on Lockwood's smiles, but the smile he was giving me now was unfamiliar to me. It held some of the warmth and fondness that I'd seen in our quieter moments, but there was something different in this smile, a fragile quality that almost suggested he was nervous.

That definitely got my attention.

"Do you want to keep it?" Lockwood asked again, holding that little box back out to me. The words didn't process any better for having heard them. Hadn't he just been telling me how important this necklace had been to his mother? And now he was offering it to me? The question was simple, but the words didn't feel that way. They were weighted and foreign, as if there was something hidden in the them that I wasn't quite able to make out.

Of course, it wasn't helping that he was watching me so steadily, his gaze intense and focused and warm. It was impossible not to be completely drawn in by him, by his light and energy. He was radiant tonight, but not his usual confident self, and that was really what was drawing me in, setting my heart beating just a little bit faster.

I proceeded with caution. "You . . . want me to have your priceless family heirloom?" I asked slowly, looking for clarification.

My question seemed to both surprise and agitate him, which only served to unsettle me further. When he answered, his words were rushed, almost flustered. "Well, _yes_ , that is what I'm asking, only . . . only you wouldn't have to think of it like that."

"I wouldn't have to think of it like what, exactly?"

Lockwood was scrubbing one hand through his hair in his agitation. "Like it's some necklace my mother used to own. Like I'm asking you to hold on to it for a little while. It's not like that."

"Isn't it?"

"No, it's not. Listen, Luce . . ." He glanced down at the box in his hand, which was still extended towards me. As I watched him, he shut his eyes and took two, deep breaths in an effort to collect himself. I was already in a fragile enough mental state, what with the looming danger, the stress of the day, the terrifying possibility of another trip to the Other Side, and how strange this conversation had suddenly become. I was not even remotely prepared for the tender expression he turned on me next. "I'm making a mess of this, and I'm not entirely sure how, but let me start over. Would you consider keeping this, Luce? I was hoping you would see it as a gift." He paused, but there was more. I could see the hesitation, the desperate desire to continue. When he did, finally, his voice was impossibly soft. "A gift from me."

It's funny the things that we notice at critical moments in our lives—and I was growing more and more certain this was one of mine. At first, all I could think of was how much of a difference there was between "do you want to keep this necklace?" and "would you please consider this family treasure, with its tender and storied history, a gift from me to you?" In essentials, the questions were more or less the same. But at their heart, they weren't the same at all. They were, in fact, two very different questions.

While that thought stewed carefully, I turned my attention back to the boy that was waiting for my answer. There was something about him that was making everything feel surreal, just slightly off-kilter. I was looking at him at his most vulnerable. The Lockwood standing with me tonight was the same Lockwood that I sometimes caught watching me from across the room while the others were preoccupied. The one that sat up in the library with me early into the morning when nightmares of the Other Side prevented both of us from sleeping. The rest of the world never saw him like this. The rest of our _friends_ never did.

Only me.

That's what did it. I knew, with a sudden, electrifying jolt of clarity, that there _was_ more hanging on my answer than just the ownership of an old family heirloom. Lockwood had hidden the real question inside of the question he'd actually asked. And it was such a Lockwood thing to do that I immediately felt like an idiot for not catching on sooner.

The scene in front of me, the entire conversation, Lockwood's agitation and vulnerability, it all made perfect sense. Suddenly, my heart ached. For him, for me. For us.

We were hours, maybe only minutes away from a confrontation that threatened to be deadlier than any we'd faced before. We'd survived our fair share of scrapes with the dead, and, I thought, more than our fair share of scrapes with the living, but this was different. Deadly ghosts and unsuspecting people were one thing. Murderous thugs whose sole intent was to kill each and every one of us was another thing entirely. Our chances of survival were so much smaller than usual.

That was why we'd eaten our last meal and done the dishes. That was also why Anthony Lockwood was with me now, tying up his loose ends. _I_ was his unfinished business.

Anthony Lockwood loved me.

I found myself torn between two very powerful, very different reactions. I couldn't help the thrill that coursed through me, head to toe and back again, and the urge to answer him, to tackle him to the ground in a death grip, or to kiss him senseless, was almost enough to knock me over. But I was surprised to realize that I also objected. Not to the necklace or what it stood for, and _never_ to Lockwood himself, but to the situation, to his motivations? I objected to that with everything I had.

 _Anthony Lockwood loved me._ Whatever my thoughts, whatever my intentions, it all came circling back to the same place, over and over again. My heart was really racing now, and it was making it difficult to see straight, let alone keep a level head in the face of his charm, his smile, his sudden and impulsive need to make a grand gesture. Each pounding beat of my heart resonated with the answer I wanted, more than anything, to give.

 _Yes. Yes. Please, yes._

Lockwood was watching me carefully, a hint of worry coloring his tenderness. "Lucy?"

It was too much; I couldn't possibly hope to respond rationally if he kept _looking_ at me like that. Instead, I let my eyes fall to the necklace that he held between us, considering, as carefully and well as I could under the circumstances, everything it represented.

"So," I said slowly, determined to keep calm, "you're saying that this . . . 'symbol of undying devotion', from _you_ . . . would belong to me?" I almost couldn't get the words out for the surge of fierce joy they sent through me.

If there'd been any doubt in my mind of what he was implying, it was banished by the relief in his voice as he answered. "That is exactly what I'm saying." He held the necklace out to me again; it sparkled as it caught the light, each twinkling flash like the pulse of a heartbeat. "As far as I'm concerned, this isn't just a necklace or an old family heirloom. It's a promise. Please take it Lucy." Lockwood's voice cracked, just barely, as he said my name. "If you want it, it's yours."

 _If you want it._

He knew, he _had_ to know that I hadn't wanted anything else for nearly two years. Almost since I'd known him, I'd been falling for him.

For a few, glorious seconds, I was lost in the story of a boy who loved a girl so much that he'd offered her his mother's favorite necklace, paralleling his parents' story with his own. With ours. In that story, this was it: the happy ending, the start of forever.

I wanted to say yes. I wanted that necklace and everything it represented; I wanted him. But even with my heart insisting that I respond, I held back. Because this wasn't the end of our story, not even close. We weren't even sure if we were going to survive the night.

As much as I protested whenever the skull brought it up, I was still haunted by its insinuations. That Lockwood was more closely tied to death than anyone else. That Lockwood had a death wish. That Lockwood had nothing left to live for. He'd admitted to me only a few months ago that he wasn't sure how much longer he was going to last. And now? In five months we'd never once verbalized what was going on between us. Things had been implied plenty, but Lockwood had seemed content to go on as we always had, and I hadn't been able to find a way to bring it up myself. He was doing this now because he thought he might not survive long enough to do the thing properly later. It was a cancerous thought, and it wouldn't stop growing.

That's why I knew exactly what had to happen next. Really, my mind had been made up from the moment I'd realized what he was trying to do.

My heart, as it turns out, had other plans.

Here's how I thought things would go: Against every impulse I owned, I would tell him no. I would explain my reasons and he would understand. We would go back inside together, maybe a little awkwardly, but no worse for wear. And we would revisit the subject again once we were past the danger that loomed. Quick, mostly painless, logical.

What actually happened? I hadn't counted on the Lockwood Effect, capital 'E'.

Oh, I _thought_ I had. I'd certainly seen it in all its devastating glory—and yes, been on the receiving end of it myself once or twice. But I wasn't prepared. Maybe it was because I'd spent so long fighting the pull I felt towards him, or maybe it was the fact that he'd openly declared how he felt about me at long last. Whatever the cause, I was overwhelmed by a tide of emotion—feelings I'd repressed for years.

I couldn't take the necklace from him tonight, but I wasn't going to walk away and let the moment just sort of dissolve, fade into nothingness with the dying of the light. Lockwood may have been making his preparations, just in case he didn't survive, but me?

I was going to give him something to fight for. Something to want to _live_ for.

Completely overwhelmed by his offer of undying devotion and the sudden surging intensity of my own feelings, I grabbed him by the tie, pulled him down to my level, and kissed him.

There are things that can't really be put into words. Things too powerful, too potent, too entirely precious to know how to start. For me, that first kiss with Lockwood was one of those things. It may have been a handful of seconds or a lifetime that passed, but I had no way of knowing because it seemed like everything around us just kind of paused, like the world itself was watching, holding its breath.

The stillness was all-encompassing; I didn't move and neither did he. For that one tiny moment, my doubts, my insecurities, any lingering anxiety I'd had, all of it was hushed in the complete stillness of that kiss. I knew only one thing: I loved him. If he'd let me, I'd stay by his side for the rest of my life.

The stillness lingered after I pulled away from him, letting go of his tie almost absentmindedly. At first, Lockwood and I simply looked at each other. For such a still, quiet moment, I was beyond affected. Simple tasks, like breathing or stringing words into coherent sentences, were suddenly beyond my capacity.

In the end, it didn't really matter. I was somewhere between desperately trying to remember how to speak and throwing caution to the winds and kissing him again when I saw something spark in Lockwood's eyes. So fast that I couldn't quite follow, he reached for me.

Lockwood kissed me, and this time I lost all track of where I was, what was going on around us. I had flashes of awareness: his arms securely around me, pulling me close; me, standing dangerously on the very tips of my toes—the boy was _stupidly_ tall—one arm around his neck and the other finding purchase in his tie again.

For a moment, none of the rest of it mattered. Just Lockwood, and me.

I can't tell you how long we stood there, together, holding each other close, because I don't actually know. There are two reasons for this: first, as I was starting to realize it always would when it came to him and me, time kind of fizzed, stretching out indefinitely before snapping back into place and indefinite amount of time later; and second? Well, it turns out that kissing Lockwood is just as devastating as being on the receiving end of the Lockwood Effect. More so, even, as I could scarcely remember my own name, let alone make any sense of my thoughts.

The sun hadn't quite set the next time I bothered to notice such things, so it can't have been that long. Noticing that was like opening the flood gates: memories, thoughts, emotions poured into me, pulling me back to the reality that waited for us once the sun set. As it had to, the real world eventually broke through our increasingly fragile stillness. But even knowing that it had to end, I was reluctant to let Lockwood go, and judging by the way he lingered, he felt the same.

"Is that your answer?" he asked finally, hushed and breathless. His voice cut through the silence with the same fluid precision with which he did anything, bringing me crashing back to our discussion and the thing that had started it all: the necklace.

I pulled away from him and let me go. He still held the little box in one hand, maybe a little more crumpled now, but no worse for wear. For a moment we watched it together, the necklace still sparkling, still beautiful, still resonating with promise.

"No," I said quietly. Lockwood's eyes snapped up to mine, and I couldn't help but smile at the shock I saw there. He opened his mouth, probably to ask who I was and what I had done with his Lucy, but I shushed him with one hand. "I'm not going to take this from you now."

He fixed me with a very confused, slightly reproachful expression. Pulling my hand away from his mouth, he said carefully, "You'll have to explain to me what that kiss was all about then."

I echoed his own words. "That was a promise. If you ask me again after we get through this, the answer will be different." Then, because he _needed_ to understand, I grasped his hand, tightly, briefly. "Please, Anthony," I said, my voice urgent, thick with emotion. "Please ask me again. Once we survive the night."

I think he got the message. In the long, heavy silence that followed, we shared a sort of silent understanding that communicated more than words possibly could. Then he smiled at me—hints of his trademark grin were seen—and safely pocketed the necklace. Just like that, the spelled hush that had fallen over the yard was broken and we were more or less back where we'd started: two coworkers enjoying one last bit of fresh air before the terrors of the night descended.

Only now we were also two dear friends with a shared promise between them.

"I supposed we had better get inside while we still have the chance," Lockwood said, and while it was a relief to my poor nerves to have some semblance of normalcy back in his (mostly) collected tone, there was such a large part of me that mourned the reestablishing boundaries.

"If the goal is making it out alive, then yes," I said. Typically, my voice was not nearly as free of evidence as his somehow was, but I put that from my mind. Once I turned my attention away from Lockwood, I was suddenly hyper aware of the shadows and the quickly setting sun. I was eager to have the sturdy kitchen door between the people that I loved and the enemies that threatened us. I turned to make my way inside, resigning myself to the distance I'd put between us, however temporary, but Lockwood reached out and grabbed my hand, stopping me short.

"Since we've tabled our discussion for now, that I won't bring it up again tonight," he said, suddenly all calm and cool and charm. Holding my gaze, he brought my hand to his lips. "Just know that I plan to see you on the other side."

And as red as my face was, I couldn't help the saucy grin that I gave him at that. "You'd better!"

This was precisely when the shrill whistle sounded from the top of the kitchen steps. Quill Kipps was standing there, all turtlenecked and folded arms and palpable discomfort. Which is to say, Quill at his usual finest.

"Not entirely sure what I'm interrupting right now—no, thank you, Lockwood, I can guess—but I thought you'd probably like to know that the Winkmans have arrived."


	2. Chapter 2

I really shouldn't have done it, I know.

I had no idea how much Lockwood actually remembered about what had happened. I'm certain he was disoriented and confused, even before I'd slapped him. And if I was being honest, it was probably more _my_ fault than his that La Belle Dame had even targeted him—or so I was going to tell myself. I knew all of this, but none of it stopped me. I was upset, I was scared, and I wasn't quite thinking straight.

It had been an _awful_ night.

To make things worse, Lockwood didn't move. He didn't even speak. He just looked at me, his usually pale face flushed.

It was too much; I turned away. I couldn't really see him through the dumb tears anyway.

I didn't like _anyone_ seeing me crying, but it was the worst— _oh_ it was so much worse—when it was Lockwood. I was desperate to get as far away as I could until I could calm down. Problem was, after the scare I'd had, I was just as desperate to be close to him, to be sure he was alive. I couldn't bring myself to actually leave, so I ended up standing a handful of steps away with my back to Lockwood, futilely trying to stop crying.

I was completely keyed into him and his movements; I heard him step towards me, once, then twice, heard the rustling of his coat, the shifting of his rapier, the breath he took as he opened his mouth to speak. "Lucy." I'd hardly, if ever, heard him sound so soft.

I shook my head, wiping furiously at my tears, only to have more spill over.

Another step closer. "What is it, Luce?"

"Nothing," I bit out, my voice betraying me. "I'm fine."

"You're crying."

"It's _fine_."

One more step and he was next to me. "I'm not sure it is," Lockwood said, surprising me when he reached out and grasped the crook of my arm gently. " _Luce_."

I didn't answer him—partly due to the gargantuan effort it took not to break down entirely, partly because of how shaken I was by the entire scenario. The silence between us was filled with the cracks and pops that heralded the stage really catching fire. I latched onto _that_ looming disaster immediately—it was far easier to focus on than the one I was currently playing out.

"We'll talk about this later," I said to him. Getting those words out made it easier to breath. Later was good. Later I would be in a better place mentally, far from that gut-wrenching fall and the paralyzing fear of losing him. Later I wouldn't be crying.

With the fire catching, Lockwood could hardly argue for a heart-to-heart now. "That might be for the best," he conceded, but I could tell he was still watching me, not the fire. And he still hadn't let go of my arm. There was no way he hadn't noticed how much I was shaking, not once he'd reached out to me.

I turned my face away, using my other sleeve to mop up the tears. "I set the stage on fire trying to keep you alive," I said at last, pulling away from him without looking. "The least you can do is help me get it out. Oh, and someone should get George out of the basement."

Lockwood let me go.

Thankfully, by this point there was plenty going on around us. Kipps had arrived by then, goggles precariously perched on top of his head as he lugged a sandbag he'd found in the wings towards the flames. Slicing the bag open with his rapier, he started scattering the sand in an effort to choke out the fire. Then Holly was there too, handing her silver-wrapped package over to Lockwood, pulling his attention away from me with an extremely abbreviated recap of what had happened since his enchainment. I was distinctly aware of him watching me at first, but he was soon distracted by the case at hand, asking Holly a series of pointed questions regarding the source and where exactly it had been.

I knew the signs. Lockwood had the case solved. Tuning them out, I found my own sandbag and joined Kipps in his efforts with a sort of numb focus.

It wasn't long before we were all fighting the fire. It took our entire team, plus the lingering theater staff, to get the job done, but in the end the theater was saved. The stage was mostly in one piece too, though they'd probably have to replace it if they wanted to get the burn marks out. That didn't matter so much to most of the crew. We'd taken care of the ghost, with minimal damage and no loss of life. Once again, Lockwood and Co was praised for a job well done.

Besides, it wasn't a true Lockwood and Co job without a few souvenir scorch marks.

In my haze of shock and exhaustion, I wasn't much in the mood for any of it. Not the admiration from the theater crew, not Barnes's grudging praise, and certainly not for any of Tufnell's bluster, even when he was handing us the check. I watched it all from afar, Holly keeping me company. I was grateful to her. She was calm, and it made it easier for me to feel that way too. By the time Lockwood finally found me to thank me for saving his life, I found it difficult to break free of the protective detachment I'd donned.

His gentle reminder that we'd be okay, as long as we looked out for each other, as we'd always done, breathed a little of life and warmth back into me, but I still didn't feel quite like myself. It was easier to get swept up in the normalcy of our post-case routing after that, but I was bone tired and emotionally raw.

And underneath it all, the fear was difficult to forget.

I spent the rest of the morning like that—present but not engaged, only partly participating. I'd like to say I put some effort into acting normal, but since Lockwood kept throwing long, piercing looks my way over breakfast, I'm pretty sure I failed.

It was a relief when George pushed away from the table, insisting that it was time to turn in for the morning. We all headed upstairs together, leaving the breakfast dishes littered across the kitchen table and our equipment in varying stages of put away and strewn about.

We parted ways on the landing, George and Lockwood for their respective rooms and me for the attic stairs. George disappeared through his door with a good night and a yawn, but despite my exhaustion, I hesitated, my foot on the first step.

Looking back the way I'd come, I found Lockwood in his doorway, watching me. The hallway was silent between us, save for the usual bumps and mutters from George's room. Lockwood turned to face me more fully, and I let my foot fall back to the ground. He was watching me with that same scrutinizing look he'd worn all morning. I knew him, I could see him struggling to find the words.

Finally, after a lifetime of silence, he spoke. "Listen, Luce. About earlier . . ."

"You already thanked me." I gripped my elbows, suddenly anxious—though whether that was because of a desire to get away or to go to him, I didn't know.

Lockwood's eyes were dark and serious. "I should have apologized. I know what you went through for me, and I'm sorry."

His quiet words settled over me, soothing my agitation and unlocking something deep inside. I'd been carefully detached all morning, but hearing Lockwood apologize brought everything roaring back into focus, most of all the one thing I'd been unable to face: I'd nearly lost him today.

I'd once been so severely haunted by the possibility of his death that I'd walked away from everything I cared about, including him. That was behind us now, but tonight the Hollow Boy's awful prophecy had been a hair's breadth away from coming true. Suddenly, the air in that hallway felt thick and stifling. I couldn't breathe again, and the panic that had started it all suddenly resurfaced, and I did the only think I could think of to quell it all.

Spinning around, I ran back down the hall and threw my arms around him.

It was a tighter hug than I usually gave, but I didn't care. Lockwood's arms circled me slowly at first, then cinched tighter all at once, his head ducking down to rest against mine. When he spoke next, his voice was quiet, close. "I _am_ sorry, Luce."

I nodded silently, holding on for dear life—mine and his, both. I could hear his heartbeat like this, and it was my lifeline.

My silence must have worried him because his next question was laced with concern. "Tell me the truth: you're okay?"

"I'm just really, really glad you're alive," I said, my voice muffled in his shoulder. It wasn't really an answer to his question, but it served as an explanation of sorts.

"Of course I am. I have you."

His answer was so honest, so matter-of-fact, and it filled me just near to bursting with warmth. He _did_ have me, and sometimes I thought that, just maybe, I had _him_ too. I couldn't say it yet, couldn't even begin to tell him how truly right he was. But someday I would.

 _Someday_. It was a good thought.

"Thanks for apologizing," I said, and while I meant it, I couldn't help the truth from following. "I've never been so scared, Lockwood. But I'd do it again. All of it."

Lockwood held me just that much tighter. "I know."

Things got a little fuzzy after that as far as my timeline is concerned.

I had to work myself up to letting go of him. I felt okay for the first time that morning, but I knew that once I pulled away the spell would be broken and Lockwood's warmth would be replaced by the cold dread that _someday_ might come too late.

I didn't want to let go, but I knew that if I waited until I felt ready we might never leave that hallway. So I did the responsible thing and loosened my hold on him. Once I'd done that, I didn't linger. I stepped out of his arms and away from the steady reassurance of his heartbeat. I paused long enough to give Lockwood a tight, tired smile—which he returned—and a hushed good night—which he didn't—then darted down the hall and up the stairs, running from the demons that were already fighting to fill the void he'd left.

Lockwood watched me all the way up the stairs.


End file.
